?
Thetrack had been recorded and for the first time in his life, Devin was made tolisten to himself, professionally immortalized on tape. He sat next to me, hishands gripping around mine with nervous anticipation, and when the notes of theHummingbird floated through the surrounding speakers, his eyes pooled withtears. He stared blankly ahead atall ofthose slidersand switches and let his mouth fall open.
“Holyshit,” he muttered breathlessly, listening to himself sing his song about theday my father was lowered into the ground. The day he silently vowed to protectme, to make sure everything was okay, for as long as he lived.
“Thisis only the first take, Dev,” Richard reminded him, talking over the song andDevin held up his hand, silencing him.
“KJ,”he said, turning to face me and gripping my hands. “Kylie.”
“Yeah?”I turned away from the blinking multi-colored lights to look into his deep,fathomless eyes.
“Isound …reallyfucking good,” he said, his voice choked in his throat,not caring about arrogance. “I didn’t know I sounded that good.”
“Itold you,” I said, laughing gently.
Richardstepped forward, invading our space as he crouched down between us. “Okay, Devin,so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to get you in here next week andrecord an EP. It’ll probably take a little less than a week, give or take, soyou might want to consider staying in the city during that time. You could evenstay at my place, if you wanted. We’ll start getting that circulated on theradio, and in the meantime, we’ll find you a few band members. Then, I’mthinking a tour of small venues around the country. What do you think?”
“Ithink—”
“Isn’tthat a lot of work in a short period of time?” I asked, cutting Devin off. Mypalms were clammy between Devin’s.
Richardnodded understandingly. “A lot of the work is on me and the studio though.Devin justhas towrite his songs and play them.That’s it.”
“But…” I swallowed, unsure of why I wasprotesting againstany of this. Wasn’t this what I wanted for him?
Iglanced over at Devin through the corner of my eye and saw his brows hadlowered, staring at me with a blend of annoyance and disbelief. I couldn’t evenblame him.
Richardsighed and nodded again. He reached out and put his hand on my knee. The touchwas friendly, not even the slightest bit ill-intended, but I wanted to push himoff. It was a familiar touch, and all I wanted to say was, “You’re not myfather,” and I couldn’t stand feeling that way.
“Kylie,”he said in a gentle tone that contradicted his business demeanor, “Iunderstand. You and Devin are still in a new relationship and the last thingyou want is for him to leave.”
Idropped my gaze from his face, to stare at his hand on my knee, wondering if heknew what it was like to be left in the way that I did.
“Iwant you to be assured that you’ll be more than welcome to come along anytime.”
AllI did was nod, because I knew how badly Devin wanted this, and the last thing Iwanted, was for my own selfish feelings to stop him from signing on the dottedline. But with the black-inked pen in his hand, signing document afterdocument, for my mother’s record-producing boyfriend, I couldn’t help thefeeling that I was drowning in a mental sea of screams and protests.
Thingswere changing, and I had a gnawing in my stomach, telling me that maybe itwasn’t for the better.
AndI hated myself for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kylie
Iopened my eyesto Devin’s heavy weight settlingon our bed. I listened in the darkness as he kicked his boots off, undid hisfly, and threw his jeans across the room at the laundry basket and missed.
“Goddammit,”he mumbled into the blackened room. But he was tired and didn’t bother to crossthe room and pick them up. He laid his back down on the bed, groaning as hishead fit into his pillow. “Fuck,” he moaned, and his hand roamed blindly tofind me until his fingers gripped my hip.
“Hey,”I whispered, grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers between his.
“Mm,”he mumbled happily, squeezing my hand. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
“Youdid, but it’s okay. I missed you.”
Thetime he had spent in the city had dragged on. He had asked if I’d stay therewith him, but I regretfully declined. Not because it didn’t sound glamorous andwonderful to spend a week, all-expenses paid, in NYC at a fancy hotel, butbecause I still had my responsibilities at home and couldn’t just neglect themat the drop of a hat. I took the logical approach,assumingthatwe would soon have to get used to being apart once he went on tour.
“Imissed you too,” he said, squeezing my hand again, and he turned toward me. Thefaint glow of the streetlamps below illuminated his face and I smiled at him.“I think you’ve gotten more beautiful since I left.”
